Her mother found her there. “Mother’s
naughty little girl,” she said, “to run
away—­”

“Let her stay,” the General begged.
“Somehow my heart needs her tonight.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

SIX DAYS

Four days of Derry’s furlough had passed, four
palpitating days, and now the hours that the lovers
spent together began to take on the poignant quality
of coming separation. Every moment counted, nothing
must be lost, nothing must be left unsaid, nothing
must be left undone which should emphasize their oneness
of thought and purpose.

They read together, they walked together, they rode
together, they went to church together. If they
included the General in their plans it was because
they felt his need of them, not theirs of him.
They lived in a world created to survive for ten
days and then to collapse like a pricked bubble—­

And it was because of the dread of collapse that Jean
began to plan a structure of remembrance which should
endure after Derry’s departure.

“Darling,” she said, “there are
only six days—­What shall we do with them?”

THE FIFTH DAY

It was Sunday, and in the morning they went dutifully
to church. They ate their luncheon dutifully
with the whole family, and motored dutifully afterwards
with the General. Then at twilight they sought
the Toy Shop.

They had it all to themselves, and they had told Bronson
that they would not be home for dinner. So Jean
made chocolate for Derry as she had made it on that
first night for his father. They toasted war
bread on the electric grill, and there were strawberries.

They were charmed with their housekeeping. “It
would have been like this,” Derry said—­all
eyes for her loveliness, “if you had been the
girl in the Toy Shop and I had been the shabby boy—­”

Jean pondered. “I wonder if a big house
is ever really a home?”

“Not ours. Mother tried to make it—­but
it has always been a sort of museum with Dad’s
collections.”

“Do you think that some day we could have a
little house?”

“We can have whatever you want.”
His smile warmed her.

“Wouldn’t you want it, Derry?”

“If you were in it.”

“Let’s talk about it, and plan it, and
put dream furniture in it, and dream friends—­”

“More Lovely Dreams?”

“Well, something like that—­a House
o’ Dreams, Derry, without any gold dragons or
marble balls or queer porcelain things; just our own
bits of furniture and china, and a garden, and Muffin
and Polly Ann—­” Her eyes were wistful.

“You shall have it now if you wish.”

“Not until you can share it with me—­”

And that was the beginning of their fantastic pilgrimage.
In the time that was left to them they were to find
a house of dreams, and as Jean said, expansively,
“all the rest.”